


Password

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon Entries 2013 [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Unsafe Sex, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's one aspect of human behaviour that zombies can't fake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Password

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round Three of the Merlin Summerpornathon (Fuck Or Die Apocalypse). Set in an unspecified zombie apocalypse (which bears suspicious resemblance to the Supernatural End!verse, for which I would apologise if I wasn't a shameless fangirl who had a tight enough deadline on this fic that she had to work with what was on her mind!). Features rough and unsafe (but consensual) sex. I was lucky enough to win second place in my group in Round Three with this fic.

The battered Landcruiser Merlin, Morgana and Gwen left in this morning heaves itself over the last ridge in the rutted track to the camp, and Arthur, on guard duty, can't let himself breathe a sigh of relief in front of Lancelot or Morgause, but internally something untwists. When they pull up and pile out of the vehicle, Arthur has to keep holding himself back. This is the test, after all. This is the password, the thing that the infected can't fake. 

Merlin's eyes are sparkling, the little fucking pyromaniac. Arthur's guts unwind a little bit further. Then Merlin grabs him by the back of the neck and drags him in for a hungry kiss, thank-god-we-lived, thank-god-you're-here, and Arthur knows that everything's good. Not that he gets a chance to say anything, because Merlin won't let go, just starts walking backwards, fingers of one hand tangled in Arthur's too-long hair, the other hand already fumbling for Arthur's fly. 

Years ago this would have been taboo, people would have frowned. Now the second shift on guard duty is coming up and Gwaine high-fives Arthur as he passes, Morgana already has Morgause pressed up against a wall, too high on surviving to be bothered about their audience, and Gwen has dragged Lance off the same way Merlin's dragging Arthur - and everyone they pass is happy, relieved, _pleased_ to see their patrol home safe and getting frisky. Because frisky means _human_. 

Merlin gets Arthur back to their barely-structurally-sound hut and shoves him through the door. The room inside is so tiny that Arthur falls back on the mattress immediately, tripped up two steps backwards. He sprawls back on his elbows and Merlin's on him immediately, straddling, grinding, stripping his own shirt off. 

There's a nick in his temple, smudge of brown-black blood snaking down across his cheek, another over his collarbone. His knuckles are muddy. His eyes are so dilated they're black, only the faintest ring of electric blue like chain lightning at the edges, and Arthur's so hard he might faint from bloodloss of his own. 

'Should have been there,' Merlin growls, ripping Arthur's shirt open and lifting up to do the same to his pants, wrestling with them like they're the enemy and right now Arthur agrees with him, hooking his fingers into the back of Merlin's jeans and trying to drag them off or make them disappear out of sheer willpower. 'It was fucking sweet. Textbook. Fuck, I love C4. Whole warren gone. Dropped three floors worth of reinforced concrete on them. Ugh. Jesus, what's - c'mon, Arthur, I need your cock _right now_ -' and Arthur gets Merlin's jeans down far enough to appreciate the crisis-level lack of underwear this apocalypse has brought them to. 

Apocalypse also means a lack of lube, a lack of condoms, so Arthur yanks Merlin around and pulls him down. He's loose because they fucked this morning, like they always do, in case they never get to again, and he tastes of harsh soap and sweat when Arthur licks at him, puts his fingers up and starts to push-pull him open, eat him out. 

Arthur loves this, loves the closeness of it, being this intimate, and he loses himself in it until Merlin groans and sinks down, his plush, bitten-bruised mouth closing around Arthur's cock. He doesn't suck to get Arthur off, just licks and mouths and drools until Arthur can feel wetness dripping onto his balls, and then Arthur nudges, one last long, lingering, longing lick, and pushes him away. 

'Love you,' Arthur tells him, huskily. He never used to say that. Never would have. Never even let Merlin touch him in public, except then the dead woke and everyone had to fight and the only way anyone got through it was to latch onto the people they loved and never let them go. Arthur's lost a lot of people. He's fucked if he'll lose Merlin for lack of showing him how loved, how fucking adored and worshipped and wanted he is. So now he says it every day.

'Love you too,' Merlin says breathlessly, sinking onto Arthur's cock. 'Now fuck me like you mean it.'

Merlin rides him like they're in a race, and Arthur snaps his hips and watches Merlin writhe and lean back to get a better angle, hands on ankles and cock jutting out red and untouched and when Merlin comes Arthur licks it off his own lips and Merlin clenches and Arthur comes and it's all sweat and dirt and love, always love.


End file.
